


The Curtain

by spire_cx



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spire_cx/pseuds/spire_cx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>years later, Woohyun and Hoya catch up to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curtain

Hoya looks down into his lap. The napkin is bright white against the black of his slacks, and faintly gold with the light of the illuminated ceiling.

 _Wear a suit,_ Woohyun had said. _It's a nice place._ It was a bit of an understatement. They just ate twenty thousand yen worth of salad and frog legs and cake, and that's not even counting the chardonnay. It's been awhile since Hoya has been able to afford a lunch like this. If it were anyone else who had invited him here, perhaps he would take it as evidence of material success.

But this is Woohyun, after all. 

Hoya takes a sip of his wine and clears his throat.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asks.

Across the table, Woohyun looks up from his mango soufflé. He shrugs, swallows, puts his fork down on the plate, and reaches for his glass of water. "Just wanted to catch up."

Hoya almost laughs out loud. Catch up—that's what he had said on the phone, too. _What's the matter? Don't you want to see me?_ Woohyun had asked, voice low and thick with a smile, and all the hairs on Hoya's arms had stood straight on end. Catch up.

"You don't have to lie anymore, you know," Hoya says, and he knows his voice sounds softer and more vulnerable than he wants it to. He tells himself he's sick of this. And who knows: maybe he is.

Woohyun hums around the ice in his mouth. When he puts his glass down, it clinks against the top of his plate. 

"Well, when you put it that way..." He leans back in his chair, and though Hoya cannot see, he can feel him crossing his legs under the table. "I guess I just wanted to see if we could finally sleep together, now that everyone else is out of our hair."

Hoya exhales and nods slowly. "Right," he says.

He turns to look out the windows. The city beyond is misty and dim with afternoon rain. He looks down and imagines the sound of tires on wet pavement. In reality he can only hear the quiet hum of the restaurant around them: the low conversation of the lone couple three tables over; the sound of spoons against saucers in the kitchen.

He turns back to the table feeling somehow lighter. He's trying not to look too satisfied with himself, but he knows he's failing by the way Woohyun is smiling, his smirk like a concession.

Hoya draws himself up and takes a deep breath.

"I don't like having sex on a full stomach," he says.

Woohyun laughs. "I should have known."

"I can come back, if you want."

Woohyun holds his hands out, palms up, in a gesture of invitation. "I'll be here all day." He reaches again for his glass of water: sparkling, of course, with a slice of lemon that he's smashed to the bottom with the handle of his butter knife. "It's not like I haven't waited long enough already."

When he takes a sip he raises his eyebrows over the rim of the glass.

He looks good, Hoya thinks. He looks very good.

   
 

Hoya meets him five hours later in the hotel lobby. Woohyun has changed and switched out his earrings and restyled his hair. What kind of person styles their hair for sex? When Hoya approaches him, Woohyun holds out his hand for a handshake.

"Nice weather today," he says.

"Beautiful," Hoya replies.

   
 

The bed is wide and tall; when Hoya sits on the edge his feet dangle in the air. There is nothing on the walls. The furniture is gray, and the floor is white, and it's a good place, he thinks, to finally be released from nine years and seven albums and thirty-some-odd trophies worth of waiting.

Woohyun tosses a black duffel bag on one of the chairs. Inside are a half-dozen pointless changes of clothes, an unopened package of four toothbrushes, three different bottles of lube, and an unnecessarily large box of condoms. If it were anyone else, Hoya would assume them preparing for a week's worth of orgies. But this is Woohyun, after all.

They don't bother turning back the covers or closing the shades. Woohyun stands over Hoya as he sits on the edge of the bed. They watch each other for only a moment before Woohyun bends down, places his hands on Hoya's thighs, and kisses him.

If it were anyone else, Hoya would debate what sort of sounds were appropriate. But this is Woohyun, so he lets himself groan when Woohyun opens his mouth to Hoya's tongue and tastes like grapes and cheap caramel inside. Hoya puts his hands around the back of Woohyun's head; Woohyun's move to Hoya's belt buckle, and he sinks to the floor between Hoya's legs.

Hoya keeps his hand cupped around Woohyun's head as his belt is undone and tossed away, as his pants are unzipped, as his cock is pulled, thick and stiffening, from his clothes. Woohyun's fingers are not attractive, but as he watches them lazily jerk his cock Hoya finds he wants them inside him anyway.

When Woohyun bends over him, Hoya smiles.

"What, no foreplay?" he asks.

Woohyun tells him to shut up and pulls Hoya's cock into his mouth.

They're years past foreplay: years of watching each other's bodies work in mirrors, years of sharing bathrooms, years of forced bickering, years of listening to girls scream every time they touched. Neither of them are here to make love.

So Hoya fucks Woohyun's face with single-minded intensity: one hand around the back of his head, the other under his jaw, feeling the swell of his cock down his throat every time he thrusts in. His mouth is much like any other, but to Hoya he feels soft and good and open in a way that can only be called _Woohyun_.

When Hoya pulls him off by a handful of his thick black hair, Woohyun laughs, lips and chin sticky with saliva and voice rough with abuse.

"Christ," he says. "Didn't know you wanted me that bad."

Hoya rolls his eyes. "Take your clothes off."

He gets on his back and lets Woohyun straddle him. He takes it as a small victory when Woohyun sinks down onto his cock and gasps, grinning, legs shaking.

"Fucking hell," Woohyun says, his smile blinding, "why did we wait so long to do this?"

Hoya doesn't particularly want to answer that question. He puts his hands on Woohyun's hips and thrusts up into him instead: once, twice, three times. He's tight and hot like most other people are, but he's also Woohyun, and somehow that sets him a world apart.

Woohyun lets his head roll back across his shoulders and groans.

"Come on," Hoya says. "I know you can ride a dick better than that."

   
 

Later, when Hoya is bent over the bed and being fucked into the edge of the mattress, Woohyun leans down and asks how Dongwoo is doing.

"How's the army treating him?" he says, trying his best not to sound breathless. "How's his girl?"

"Shut up," Hoya says. He doesn't mean it, not exactly. But this is Woohyun, after all, and this is why they're here: because Woohyun knows that when Hoya tells him to shut up he's actually asking him to make it hurt better.

"You can think about him if you want," Woohyun says. "I won't mind."

Hoya clenches his fists in the sheets. "It wouldn't work," he says. "His cock is bigger."

That one earns him a smack, the sound of Woohyun's hand on his ass echoing in the cold white room. Hoya grunts into the pillows. Woohyun laughs, and hits him again.

It's not the first time he's come simply from being fucked, but it's the first time he calls out his lover's name, and it's the first time that name is Woohyun—and really, he finds it makes all the difference.

   
 

Room service here is twenty-four hours. Woohyun orders more expensive salads and answers the door fully-dressed while Hoya lies naked in bed. They stand at the open window as they eat, feeling the cold October mist on their skin.

"So why the hotel?" Hoya says around a mouthful of arugula and walnuts. "I'm a cheap date. You didn't need to impress me to get me into bed with you."

Woohyun laughs. "My apartment is a mess."

Hoya nods. He looks down at the pool of balsamic vinaigrette at the bottom of his bowl. In the street below, two taxis beep their horns at each other.

"It's fine," Hoya says. "I don't really care."

And, watching Woohyun stir his salad in the gray light, he realizes that he doesn't.

Woohyun shrugs. "Next time," he says.

Hoya hums, a low sound, deep in his chest. 

"Next time."


End file.
